Chapter 8 No One Leaves Clean

• Rafael stepped into the room, shirtless beneath his open suit jacket. Water dripped from his hair onto his collarbone. Casual, unbothered, entirely aware of the effect he had on people.
• “Find anything interesting?
• Valentina held his gaze. “You don’t hide your crimes. You just bury them under clean bookkeeping."
• He smirked. “Exactly. It’s not hiding if no one dares to question it."
• She stood, folder in hand. “What is this some sort of test? You let me in here, expecting what? Gratitude?"
• “No.” He walked toward her, his eyes sharp but unreadable. “I expect honesty."
• Valentina’s fingers curled around the file. “And if I’m not honest?"
• “Then you’re exactly like everyone else who’s tried to use me."
• Their eyes locked. She wanted to hate him. Needed to. But the man in front of her wasn’t the cold-blooded killer she’d imagined all those years. He was dangerous, yes but with purpose. With rules.
• “You want to play games, Rafael?” she said, stepping closer. “Then let’s play."
• He studied her, something shifting behind his eyes. “You’re not afraid of me."
• “No,” she said, voice low. “That’s your first mistake."
• A beat of silence.
• Then, his hand shot out grabbing the file from hers and tossing it on the desk behind her. She gasped, not from fear, but from the way his other hand pressed against her hip, pinning her between him and the desk.
• “You think you know what this world is?” he asked, his breath brushing her cheek. “You think revenge is clean? That your little justice mission doesn’t cost something?
• She felt her pulse hammering. “You don’t know anything about me.
• “I know your eyes never lie,” he said. “And right now, they’re begging me to stop."
• Am not begging you not to,” she whispered, barely audible.
• Something in him broke. His mouth crushed against hers, all fire and fury, no restraint. Valentina kissed him back, every part of her screaming this was wrong and craving more anyway. His hands roamed her waist, her back, the heat between them blinding.
• Then he pulled away.
• Abrupt. Cold.
• “I’m late for a meeting,” he said, voice suddenly detached.
• She stood there, breathless, lips swollen, furious.
• He turned, paused in the doorway. “You’re in deeper than you think, Valentina."
• She froze.
• He’d never called her by her real name before.
• The door clicked shut.
• Later that afternoon, Valentina sat in the surveillance room, watching the screens, while Rafael met with his lieutenants in the underground chamber.
• She rewound the footage, specifically the camera from the hallway. At 3:07 AM, hours after the gala, Rafael had spoken to Mateo in hushed tones. She enhanced the audio.
• “…she’s not who she says she is. But I want to know why."
• Valentina’s chest tightened.
• He didn’t trust her.
• Good. He wasn’t supposed to.
• But if he knew her name, how much else did he know?
• She clicked through the data drive she’d cloned earlier. One folder stood out: “Project Reina.” Locked. Triple encrypted.
• Why would a drug cartel label anything “Project Reina”?
• She input the standard brute-force sequence.
• Nothing.
• She paused, thinking. Reina.
• Her name Valentina. The queen motif.
• Was it personal? Symbolic?
• She typed: valcrz0917.
• Click.
• The file opened.
• Inside were surveillance photos. Of her.
• Not just recent ones. Childhood ones. Her mother. Her father. Her sister. Old addresses. A full timeline.
• Her heart dropped.
• He’d known who she was for weeks.
• There was a single note at the bottom of the folder:
• “She thinks I killed her family. Let her. The moment she learns the truth, she won’t walk away. She’ll burn with me."
• – R.C.
• Valentina stared at the words.
• She wasn’t the hunter.
• She was the bait.